


Laddie My Love

by calenmir



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Death References, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenmir/pseuds/calenmir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Bofur have fallen in love.  This will be the story of their relationship and all its challenges.  Movie-verse more than book-verse, but will not follow either plot exactly, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Purely fluffy, lots of sweetness and love. I just really like Ridiculously Lovely Bofur, okay? I think he would be a real sweetheart in a situation like this.
> 
> Whoops! This has become a series! Fluffy and sweet now, but will likely head toward explicit as their relationship progresses...so I'm making it a Mature rating even though none of that's been written yet. Just FYI.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is being teased by other members of the Company and only Bofur sees how upset he really is. In trying to comfort Bilbo, Bofur discovers that the real reason Bilbo is so upset goes much deeper than the other dwarves could have guessed...

A loud shout of laughter rang out across the fire. Bofur looked up in time to see a grinning Fili slap a blushing Bilbo on the back before swaggering away to sit beside his giggling brother. Bofur hadn’t heard what Fili said to the little burglar, but judging from the look on Bilbo’s face, he could make a guess. Young Fili and Kili had been teasing the halfing unmercifully for days now, asking why he didn’t wear even the beginnings of a beard and whether he was man enough to grow hair on his chin, asking if he was even man enough to grow hair between his legs and if that was why he did not have a mate to share his big empty home. 

While Bofur had laughed along with them at first, the humor had quickly worn thin. Looking at Bilbo now, Bofur could see that he was close to tears. The dwarves were accustomed to a rougher sort of humor than the hobbit, it was clear. And while Bofur saw and recognized the affection behind the boys’ teasing, clearly Bilbo did not. As Bofur watched, Bilbo moved away from the fire, settling himself some distance away from the others with his back to a tree, facing out into the darkening woods.

Bofur stood and moved around to sit beside Bilbo. He leaned back on his hands, giving Bilbo a chance to compose himself if he needed it, then bumped his shoulder lightly against the hobbit’s.

“They don’t mean anything by it, lad,” Bofur said, his voice low. “They’re young and foolish and laugh at things they shouldn’t. But they’re good lads, and they are quite fond of you, you know.”

“Well, they have a funny way of showing it!” Bilbo responded, speaking quietly but angrily. The shadow of tears haunted his voice and Bofur’s heart ached to hear it. He was fond of Bilbo, too…more than fond, truth be told…but even beyond that, he never liked to see anyone hurting.

“You’re one of us now, laddie,” Bofur said quietly. “They feel comfortable with you. Haven’t you heard the way they tease each other? Haven’t you seen the way Bombur and I spar? It’s just our way, Bilbo. If they didn’t see you as part of the Company, they wouldn’t speak to you at all, let alone joke with you!”

“But why did they have to pick _that_ to joke about?” Bilbo burst, then froze with a look of horror on his face. He dropped his head into his hands.

“What, your beardless face?” said Bofur jovially, trying to jolly the hobbit out of his funk. “It isn’t as though Kili has much of one to speak of, anyway!”

When Bilbo replied, Bofur could not hear him at first, Bilbo’s words muffled by his hands.

“What’s that, laddie?” Bofur said gently.

“No,” Bilbo said, lifing his head and facing Bofur for the first time. “No, not my lack of a beard. My lack of…of a mate.”

“Oh, that!” Bofur said, trying to sound casual. He’d wondered, too, as the whole Company had, whether the hobbit had someone special waiting for him back in the Shire. A sweetheart or intended, perhaps, since Bilbo clearly had no formal partnership. It was idle curiosity on the part of most of the dwarves, but Bofur had a slightly more…personal…stake in the answer. He wasn’t sure how to ask about it without upsetting the hobbit further, though, so he simply bumped his shoulder against Bilbo’s again and remained silent, giving the hobbit a chance to continue if he wished.

They stared out into the darkness under the trees together in a companionable, if not entirely comfortable, silence for some minutes before Bilbo coughed slightly.

“It’s just…everyone in Hobbiton always wondered the same thing. If you asked Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, she’d say it was because I was selfish, keeping all of Bag End to myself and not wanting to share. It’s true my parents died when I was young and I’ve become…accustomed…to my comforts, and my solitude. But solitude was never…what I wanted,” Bilbo explained quietly. “Some people in town believed I was beginning to go a bit queer in the head, unsociable-like. That’s one of the worst things a hobbit can be, you know, after adventurous. Unsociable. I suppose now they’ll say I’m both and I’ll be…more alone than I started.”

Bofur looked at Bilbo. The hobbit was still staring into the darkness, a strange tension in his face. “ So then…there’s no one back home waiting for you? A sweetheart?” he asked slowly.

“No. There’s no one,” Bilbo said. “You?”

“No,” Bofur replied lightly. “I had a sweetheart once, with the loveliest brown curls and laughing eyes. I thought we might marry one day, when we came of age to do so. But when that time came, he chose another.”

“He?” Bilbo squeaked. Bofur nodded silently. He knew that things were done differently by different folk. 

“That…well, that isn’t a common thing among my people,” Bilbo said. “I’ve heard that there are people who…feel those things…but it isn’t much talked about. Considered aberrant, unnatural. Perhaps such things go on in Bree where folk are a bit foreign, but not in Hobbiton, no, never there.”

Bofur wondered…was that a touch of bitterness in Bilbo’s tone? “Well, lad, your people are different from mine in many ways. Barely a third of all dwarves are women, and not all of them interested in marriage. We have found it makes little sense to judge whom another chooses to love. I think everyone in this company has found a moment of comfort in the arms of one of his own sex at least once before,” he explained, as matter-of-factly as he could. 

Bilbo was silent. Shock, Bofur wondered? Disgust? 

“Dwarves are…much more open than my folk. You are lucky,” Bilbo said at last. He took a deep breath and continued, “My…aberrant…desires would never even have crossed the S-Bs' minds as the reason I never married and produced a brood of hobbitlings to steal Bag End from them forevermore.”

“Ohhhhh,” Bofur sighed. “That’s how it is, then. Well, lad…you never have to hide who you are from us. From _me_. I want you to know that. You are one of the Company and I...we...would have you be happy.”

“Do you know,” Bilbo said, speaking very quickly. “I’ve never even kissed anyone?”

Bofur turned his head to look down at the hobbit, only to find Bilbo’s face suddenly inches from his own. He could feel the hobbit’s warm breath ghosting against his lips and his heart sped up as they breathed together, a long moment of still tension.

“I think we can fix that, laddie my love,” Bofur murmured quietly, then leaned forward to close the tiny space left between them, brushing his lips lightly over Bilbo’s.

Bilbo’s hands came up and caught at Bofur’s braids. Bofur flicked his tongue lightly across Bilbo’s mouth and he opened it, their kiss deepening toward passion.

Bilbo broke the kiss suddenly, pulling away. His eyes were wide with fear and Bofur felt his heart sink. Perhaps he’d pushed too far, too fast, and Bilbo now regretted opening his heart and his lips to him. 

But Bilbo said, “I…I do not want to be only a moment of comfort for you, Bofur. If I am going to…explore this…at last, I want it to be real. Lasting. For…I may not find the courage ever again. And…I am more than passing fond of you.”

“There is something else you should know about dwarves, Bilbo,” Bofur said quietly. “While we might find comfort with many along the way, we only give our hearts once. I did not love my sweetheart, not truly, and he did not love me. Perhaps we would have come to that love in time, but I rather think not. I think…I think that I was only waiting to meet you. I am a miner and toymaker, Bilbo. I cannot give you gold and jewels…in fact, I do not have much that I can give you. But...you already have my heart.”

Bilbo gazed at him intently for a long, fraught moment as if weighing his words. “Hobbits are very fond of receiving gifts, but even more fond of giving them. I think that I shall have to give you my heart in return…but only if you promise to take good care of it, of course!” he said at last, smiling gently.

“That’s a promise, laddie my love,” Bofur said, and kissed him.


	2. Private Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Bilbo have been pursuing their relationship for some time, but Bilbo has insisted on keeping it a secret from the others. Bofur has agreed, though it hurts him, because he understands that Bilbo is a private person. But everyone has to find out sooner or later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops...suddenly, this is a series. I just see so much potential for their developing relationship! Shortish, and purely fluffy and romancey, with just a dash of angst.

Bofur caught the back of Bilbo’s shirt just before he would have left the shelter of the woods, pulling him back into the shadows under the trees.

“One more kiss, laddie my love,” Bofur murmured. Both he and Bilbo were loaded down with armfuls of gathered firewood, but they leaned awkwardly together, their noses bumping as their lips fitted together. Bofur sighed to himself to feel the sweetness of his hobbit’s mouth against his own and he longed to throw the firewood aside and wrap the little halfling up in his arms.

“Where’s that damned firewood?” came Dwalin’s roar from their camp. Bilbo quickly broke away from Bofur and hurried out into the clearing, leaving Bofur standing in the shadows.

“Here it is, here it is,” Bilbo said, bustling over to the prepared firepit. Dwalin only grunted as he took the wood and began to build up the fire.

Bofur watched him go. It had been some few weeks now since he and Bilbo had begun their relationship, and still they had done nothing more than snatch kisses and light caresses in the shadows where no one could see. Still no one in the Company knew anything of their burgeoning affection. The secrecy had been at Bilbo’s request.

“You cannot know what it’s been like for me, Bofur,” Bilbo had said quietly. “I’ve hidden this side of myself for my entire life, rejected it. I…cannot throw aside the habits of a lifetime in just a few days. I am…simply not ready to be so open.”

Bofur had been stung despite himself. The dwarves are a passionate, straightforward people and adore nothing more than to shower attention upon those they love. Bofur understood, though, he really did. Bilbo was a private person, accustomed to a certain reserve in his daily life. Declaring their relationship would expose Bilbo to even more attention from the Company than he already received; dwarves can be terrible gossips, not to mention voyeurs. Every kiss, every stolen moment would be scrutinized, talked about. Bilbo would be miserable as the subject of that kind of attention, and Bofur would never want to make Bilbo so unhappy. He would wait until Bilbo was ready. But still…there was a kernel of pain deep inside Bofur that ached lightly every time Bilbo broke away so the others would not see their love.

Lost in thought, Bofur almost forgot that he, too, carried a load of firewood. Coming back to himself, he hurried out of the trees and dropped his armload beside the now-roaring fire. 

“Took you a while, didn’t it Bofur?” Fili asked jovially as the two brothers approached him. “What were you doing out there that took so long, eh?” His tone held a teasing insinuation.

Bofur forced a laugh. “We all need a private moment now and again, don’t we lads? Hot-blooded dwarves that we are?”

Kili grinned that foolish, puppy-dog grin of his. “Oh, yes! As close as we’ve gotten the last few weeks, I might need to ask my right hand to marry me once we get to Erebor!”

Bofur laughed again, hearing the strain in it. Across the camp, he saw Bilbo watching him. The hobbit blushed when their eyes met and he looked away. Bofur’s heart sank a little further. This was killing him. He turned away from Bilbo and so missed it when Bilbo looked back at him, heart in his eyes.

Bofur settled himself beside Bifur. Bombur was closer to the fire, beginning the evening’s meal. Bifur looked up when Bofur sat down, then began moving his hands in small, circumspect gestures… _iglishmek_ , the hand language of the dwarrow.

“ _Go to him_ ,” Bifur’s hands spelled out.

“ _I can’t_ ,” Bofur replied the same way, somehow not at all surprised that his cousin had noticed. His cousin had gone strange since the orc’s ax had embedded in his brain, but he was far from stupid and he was more insightful than most gave him credit for being. “ _He does not want me to_.”

“ _He does. But he is afraid. You must help him not to be_ ,” Bifur signed.

“ _But...I…am afraid, too_ ,” Bofur signed, realizing it was true. He’d given his heart to Bilbo, irrevocably. He would never… _could_ never…love another. He’d believed that the hobbit loved him back. But the ways of hobbits were different and they perhaps less bound by love than were the dwarves. If Bilbo chose to reject him now, Bofur would be alone and lonely for the rest of his life. “ _If I push him now, too hard and too fast…I could lose him forever_.” 

Bifur had no response for that. He simply smiled a vacant smile and patted Bofur on the shoulder.

A loud shout of laughter across the camp caught his attention then. Again, this was happening? Bofur looked up to see Bilbo flanked on either side by Fili and Kili, and the brothers were laughing heartily. Bilbo looked miserable, drawn in tight on himself with his arms wrapped around his bent knees and his head bowed. 

“Come on, Master Burglar!” Kili crowed. “You can tell us! Left hand, or right hand?”

Bilbo didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. Bofur glowered angrily, restraining himself by sheer force of will from charging across camp and attacking the Durin boys. He had spoken to Fili and Kili about their teasing of Bilbo, pointing out that the hobbit’s sense of humor greatly differed from their own and suggesting in the strongest of terms that they leave him alone. The steadier Fili had taken his words to heart and had left off his teasing for the most part, but thoughtless Kili seemed to have forgotten.

“Come on! You must do it! Everyone does it! And you must have more practice than most, eh?” Kili continued. “You don’t even have a mate to help you out!”

Bilbo spoke, quietly, without lifting his head, but his words were drowned out by Kili’s giggles.

“What was that, Bilbo?” Fili asked, shoving Kili. The younger dwarf toppled backward, falling off the rock he’d been perched upon and landing flat on his back with his legs waving in the air like a junebug.

Bilbo spoke up. “I said that is not true. I do have a mate.” He lifted his head and stared across the fire, directly at Bofur. Bofur stared back, in amazement. Could Bilbo really mean to do this? Bilbo gave the slightest of nods and Bofur's heart sped up, his entire body beginning to tremble with contained joy.

“You do?” Fili and Kili asked in unison, their voices surprised but warm, pleased.

“He does,” Bofur said, standing up and moving around the fire toward them without ever breaking eye contact with Bilbo. “He does indeed.”

Bilbo stood then, not taking his eyes off Bofur’s face. They stood motionless for a long moment, face to face, and then Bilbo stepped forward and kissed Bofur hard.

When they broke the kiss at last, breathless, it was to the sounds of cheering. Every dwarf in the camp was watching them, grinning and hooting with joy. Even Thorin was smiling, though he had not bent his dignity enough to cheer. Gandalf puffed at his pipe, beaming knowingly.

Bofur ignored them, gazing into Bilbo’s eyes. “Are you sure about this, laddie my love?” he murmured quietly against Bilbo’s lips.

“I am,” Bilbo replied, just as quietly. “I hurt you and I did not mean to. I cannot promise that I will never hurt you again, but I can promise that I will do my best not to.”

Bilbo moved a half-step back from Bofur and raised his voice so that the whole Company could hear. “I love you, Bofur. And always will.”


	3. Dwarven Whiskey, Elven Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Rivendell, Bofur and Bilbo are finally alone together, truly alone for the first time on this trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the smut!

Bofur stretched out full-length on the huge elven bed. It was a luxury such as he'd never experienced before, and he was not entirely certain he liked it. It seemed too soft for one thing, and it smelled of flowers...not at all like the good straw ticking mattress he slept on in the Ered Luin. But he supposed it was the kind of thing one could get used to, at that. Like the bathhouse he and the others had visited earlier. It had deep tubs sunken into the floor with steaming hot water that was somehow pumped into the tubs through a system of piping, according to the elf he'd interrogated about it. 

Bofur did not know if this "indoor plumbing" was installed in Erebor, but if not, he intended to see about it. There was something quite relaxing about a good hot soak, especially when one has been almost roasted to death by trolls and eaten by wargs, all in the same day. Of course, it also meant that now Bofur, like his mattress, smelled of flowers. But that had to be better than smelling of troll hoard and stale sweat. Strangely unwilling to put his dirty clothing back on his clean body, he'd dug out a cleanish pair of long underwear to replace the ones he'd been wearing for days, and had left his wet hair unbraided and loose.

The room was quiet and dim around him, moonlight pouring through the elaborate windows. Various groups of elves were singing somewhere outside, a low but constant murmur of delicate music very unlike the jolly reels and mournful dirges of his own folk. Restless, he climbed down from the bed and retrieved his clarinet from his pack. Listening to the elven music, he played along quietly, trying to teach himself the elf-songs by ear.

"Ugh, this elf rubbish," he spat at last. "Maybe they think it's great fun, but give me the Man in the Moon song any day!"

He walked aimlessly through the large room he'd been assigned, opening drawers and picking up and setting down the various elven knickknacks and little oddities displayed here and there. Walking back to his pack, he pulled out a chunk of wood and his small knife and tried to concentrate on carving. That usually relaxed him even when nothing else did.

But it was no good, Bofur admitted to himself at last, throwing down the wood in disgust. He would never be able to concentrate on anything until Bilbo came to him. They had been separated at dinner; for some reason, Gandalf had insisted that the hobbit sit at the high table with Elrond, Thorin and himself. That hadn't been so bad; Bofur was still in company with friends and they'd had a merry time of it. 

But then after dinner, silent elves had escorted the company to their rooms and Bilbo had gone off with Thorin, Balin, Gandalf, and Elrond. Bofur understood why Balin had gone along; the old dwarf was a scholar and a gentleman, not to mention one of Thorin's oldest and most trusted friends. But Bofur had been crestfallen when Bilbo walked off with hardly a look back at him. He had been looking forward to a bit of private time with Bilbo; what moments they'd had together had been stolen ones and they had never truly been alone since their relationship began. 

He threw himself back onto the bed and covered his face with one arm. Somehow, he managed to sleep.

When the door to his room opened, spilling in light from the corridor, Bofur awoke. He didn't know if he'd slept minutes or hours, but he didn't much care because Bilbo, at last, was alone in a room with him and the door was closed on the world.

"Bilbo!" he shouted, leaping off the bed.

"Oh, Bofur!" Bilbo crowed. "This place! This place is so amazing! Why didn't you come with us earlier? You should have! Lord Elrond has this table, see, well, I don't really know if you can call it a table, exactly, but it's all one big crystal! And then there were _moon runes_ , Bofur, moon runes! On the map! I've only ever read about those! I never expected to see them! And the elves are all singing, all the time, and there's a library full of books I've never read and Lord Elrond said I could come back anytime to read them! What a wonderful place!"

Bofur grinned to see his hobbit so excited, though some little part of him wondered if Erebor could ever prove so enthralling to Bilbo as Imladris. Bofur didn't know; he'd never been to Erebor himself. "That's wonderful, laddie my love! I do wish I could have seen it," he replied. "Such things aren't for such as me, though, miner that I am. But I should have liked to see you seeing them."

Bilbo smiled. "You're more than a miner, Bofur, and you know it! Thorin would not have brought you on this adventure if that's all you were!" he said. "Though I don't know why he brought _me_ along, really, other than Gandalf making him. I...I do not think he likes me much." Bilbo looked so crestfallen that Bofur's heart flip-flopped in his chest. 

"Ah, lad, Thorin's bark is worse than his bite, you know. He can be a hard one, Thorin Oakenshield, but down deep he's got a heart soft as gold and pure as crystal," Bofur replied. "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Well, I suppose I shan't, then. But still...I cannot help but wish to prove myself to him," Bilbo said slowly. "There's something about him..."

Bofur felt a tiny spark of jealousy ignite. He forced it down, though, and bent to rummage in his pack. He came up with a small bottle of dark amber glass enclosed in an elaborate metal mesh. "Here, laddie my love. I've been saving this for a special occasion!"

"What is it?" Bilbo asked, taking the bottle.

"Dwarven whiskey!" Bofur replied happily. "Have you ever had it?"

"No...mostly hobbits prefer ale and wine to harder stuff," Bilbo answered, regarding the bottle dubiously. 

"Oh, you're in for a treat then!" Bofur answered, taking the bottle back and uncorking it. "This is the finest whiskey the Ered Luin distilleries have to offer."

He took a swig of the liquor and let it rest on his tongue for a long moment, savoring the flavors of peat and honey, earthy musk and sweetness. Then he swallowed and a long line of fire burned itself from his mouth to his gut and settled there to smolder. He offered the bottle back to Bilbo.

Bilbo took it and sniffed at the mouth. He blinked at the fiery odor, then shrugged and took a long belt. Immediately he fell to gasping and choking as the strong stuff caught him by surprise.

"Oh laddie!" Bofur said, laughing hard. "Sip gently now!"

Bilbo looked at him through wet lashes, his eyes watering. "No...no, it's good. I just...wasn't expecting..." he trailed off, coughing. Then, a look of determination coming over his face, he drank again, another long swallow. This time he did not cough, and looked at Bofur triumphantly.

"Careful, laddie my love! It'll go straight to your head if you're not careful and I won't have it said Bofur took advantage of a drunken hobbit!" Bofur laughed again.

Bilbo, taking a third swallow of whiskey, began to choke again. Bofur seized the bottle from him and set it aside, then patted the hobbit on the back until his coughing subsided. 

"Take...advantage of me?" Bilbo asked when he was able, his eyes wide with what might be fear.

"Aye, laddie," Bofur said, slowly. "We are alone at last, my love. I thought that perhaps tonight...we might...." He trailed off. "But if you don't want to...."

Bilbo looked up at him, his eyes still wet from coughing. Bofur's heart sped up; Bilbo was so lovely in the moonlight. 

"I...I don't..." Bilbo began, and Bofur felt disappointment begin to well up in his throat. "That is, I _do_ but...I've never...and...what if I do it _wrong_?!" Bilbo got out finally, his voice breaking on the last words.

"Oh, laddie my love!" Bofur said, gently, understanding dawning. "Is that what worries you?" He took the hobbit's face between his hands and bent to kiss him. Bilbo tasted of dwarven whiskey and salt and Bofur felt himself becoming aroused, the tension of the moment thrumming through them both like a plucked harp string.

Bofur pulled his face away and murmured, "Do you trust me, Bilbo?"

Bilbo stared into his eyes. "Yes." Just that. 

Bofur swept Bilbo up into his arms and carried him to the oversized elven bed in one swift movement. He felt Bilbo squirming and giggling in his arms and a huge grin spread over Bofur's face. At last, at last. He laid Bilbo out upon the cool white sheets and knelt beside him, staring down at him, a question in his eyes. The hobbit looked back at him and smiled, lightly, and nodded.

Somewhere along the way, Bilbo had shed his coat and waistcoat and was now garbed simply in shirt and trousers. Slowly, with fingers that trembled, Bofur undid the buttons of Bilbo's shirt and then pulled it away from his body, Bilbo shifting to assist. The hobbit's chest was milky pale in the moonlight, furred lightly with amber curls to match those on his head and his toes. Then Bofur dropped his hands to Bilbo's hips, sliding his fingers under the waistline of the hobbit's trousers. He saw Bilbo bite his lip at the contact and grinned, then unfastened the hobbit's trousers and slowly slipped them over his hips and down his legs, exposing Bilbo fully to the crystal moonlight. Bofur drank in the sight. The rigors of their journey had slimmed the once rotund halfling and firmed his muscles, leaving him all planes and angles and soft brown curls of hair. Bilbo was aroused, staring at Bofur wide-eyed and trembling.

Bofur hopped down from the bed and quickly shed his own clothing, then climbed back up fully nude. He was gratified when Bilbo gasped to see him and stretched up one soft hand to trail it over the thick thatch of dark hair on Bofur's chest. Bofur began to tremble, too. He had waited so long for this, it seemed. 

In one swift movement, Bofur threw a leg over Bilbo's hips and straddled him, their arousals pressed together tightly. Bilbo gasped in surprise, then bucked under him, pressing his hips tight against Bofur's by some instinct or urge. 

Bofur grinned. "Not so fast, laddie my love. I've waited for you this long; now I am going to take my time with you!" He could feel Bilbo's breathing speed up, in arousal or anticipation, perhaps.

Bofur bent over Bilbo and pressed his lips against the place where the hobbit's neck met his shoulder, then nipped at it lightly. Bilbo moaned, a surprisingly rough sound, and Bofur felt a stab of desire spear through him. Encouraged, he began slowly to explore Bilbo's body, leaving a trail of wet kisses and short sharp nips down the hobbit's neck and arms and across his chest. He devoted some time to the hobbit's small nipples, catching them between his teeth and flicking his tongue across them hard. Bilbo bucked and moaned under him, his small body shaking and hot. Bofur trailed his lips across the flat plane of Bilbo's stomach, pressing a light kiss to his bellybutton before moving lower. He kissed just along the border of the thicker hair at Bilbo's groin, carefully avoiding the hobbit's hard member, then moved sideways, pressing his lips into the hollows of Bilbo's hipbones one after the other. 

Suddenly he felt Bilbo's hands tangle in his hair and tug it hard, and he grinned again. With sudden force, Bilbo pulled at him and he followed, allowing himself to be drawn back up along the hobbit's body to his face. They kissed hard, their tongues dancing together slick and wet and hot and Bofur moaned against Bilbo's mouth, drawing one hand down between their bodies and finally grasping the hobbit's arousal. Bilbo muffled a scream against Bofur's lips and pressed up hard against him. Bofur opened his hand and took his own hard member into it as well, sliding his hand around them both together, the heat and hardness of them pressed together tightly.

Bilbo's breathing became faster and Bofur realized that the hobbit was close, very close. Swiftly he shifted position and took the hobbit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the very end of him. Almost immediately Bilbo quivered and jerked and salty warmth flooded into Bofur's mouth. He swallowed hard and continued to lick and suck at Bilbo until the hobbit was emptied. Bofur slid his body back up along Bilbo's now sweat-slicked one and brought the hobbit's small hand to his own still-aching arousal. Tentatively at first, and then with greater confidence as Bofur moaned encouragement, Bilbo stroked him, small fingers dancing cleverly along his length. Bofur felt the tingling pressure of his impending climax and then he jerked in Bilbo's hand, a hot rush of sensation leaving him gasping and trembling on Bilbo's chest. 

They lay together for long, quiet moments, their sweat-soaked limbs tangled lightly, their harsh breathing slowing as they relaxed together. Bofur propped himself up on one arm and looked down at Bilbo, smiling.

Bilbo was smiling, too. "Was that...that was...oh," he said quietly. "Oh, Bofur, my love."

"That was only the beginning, laddie my love," Bofur said, pressing a light kiss to the tip of Bilbo's nose. "We have so much more to explore together."

"I cannot wait!" Bilbo replied, drawing Bofur back down into the soft elven bed.


	4. Cracking Down the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not far out from Rivendell, Bilbo determines to turn back. Thorin doesn't want him on the trip, it's clear, and Bilbo knows he shouldn't have come. Despite everything Bofur says to keep him there, Bilbo is determined to leave...even though Bofur's heart is cracking down the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter this time...
> 
> It's dangerous, I know, rewriting an actual scene from the movie to fit my personal AU. But I felt it had to be done! This is the scene that launched the ship for many of us...how would it be different if the relationship were already established? 
> 
> This is pure angst. But no worries...I'll fix it up in later chapters, promise!

Thorin had assigned him first watch, and Bofur found he rather resented it. He would much rather be laying with Bilbo, holding the little hobbit as tightly as possible to reassure himself that Bilbo was still there, still safe. How close Bofur had come to losing him! His heart had nearly stopped in his chest when he realized the hobbit was missing, and then to see him dangling over the abyss…his heart _had_ stopped then. 

But Thorin had saved Bilbo, even as Bofur fought to pull the hobbit back up; Thorin had jumped off the edge and nearly been lost to the abyss in Bilbo’s place. Bofur found he resented that, too. _He_ should have been the one to save Bilbo. Thorin didn’t even like the halfling; he had made that abundantly clear. Bilbo had been so crestfallen when Thorin shouted at him.

Bofur sighed and shifted against the hard stone wall of the cave, striving to find a comfortable position. He was definitely going to miss the soft elven beds in Rivendell, that was certain, and not only because they made sleeping so much easier. The Company had spent two days recuperating there before sneaking back out this morning, and Bofur and Bilbo had spent much of those days cavorting in the large, soft bed. The mattress had no longer smelled like flowers by the time they had left, but of salt and musk and sex. Bofur lost himself in daydreams of those delicious hours, remembering how the hobbit’s small body had looked under him. Bilbo was not so much shorter than a dwarf, not really, but he was more slight, his hips and shoulders delicate by dwarven standards. The differences enticed and delighted Bofur, and Bilbo had seemed equally fascinated by Bofur’s own broader, more muscular form.

Suddenly, as though Bofur’s thoughts had summoned him up, Bilbo himself crept away from the others and approached him silently. Bofur grinned with happiness; Bilbo had come to sit watch with him! Then he saw that the hobbit was fully-dressed and carrying his pack.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bofur asked, slowly.

“Back to Rivendell,” Bilbo said, bitterly.

“You can't turn back now. You're part of the Company. You're one of us!” Bofur exclaimed. “You’re…part of me.”

“Thorin said I should never have come and he was right. I should never have run out my door,” Bilbo answered, his voice low and angry. “I should have stayed in Bag End where I belong.”

“You’re homesick! I understand that!” Bofur answered, his voice now urgent, desperate to convince Bilbo to stay. Bilbo had left much behind, it was true, but hadn’t he found much to replace it? Hadn’t he found Bofur, and love?

“No, you don't! None of you do. You're dwarves. You're used to this life, not belonging anywhere....I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that,” Bilbo said, catching sight of Bofur’s face and the anguish writ there. “You should come with me, Bofur! Come back to Rivendell with me! Come back to the Shire! We can belong there, together.”

“Can we, though?” Bofur asked, his voice quiet. “Will your neighbors accept us, truly? A dwarf and a hobbit—a male and a male—living together in domestic bliss? From what you’ve told me of the Shire, I do not think it likely.”

Bilbo looked up at him and Bofur saw his face change as he considered it and came to the gut-deep understanding that the two of them could never live in true partnership at Bag End, that Bilbo would have to choose: Bag End, or Bofur. He could not have both. Bofur saw, too, that Bilbo meant to leave anyway.

“Come with me to Rivendell,” Bilbo whispered urgently. “We’ll find a way. We’ll go back to your home in the Ered Luin!”

“No, laddie,” Bofur said, regretful. “I pledged myself to see this done. I cannot break that oath, nor can I leave my kin alone to face the quest’s dangers.” As you are leaving me, he did not say.

“Then I will wait for you! Once you’ve reclaimed Erebor, come to me in Rivendell!” Bilbo answered, his voice raw with emotion. “Come to me!”

“Oh, laddie my love,” Bofur sighed, his aching. “I will. I will.”

Both of them knew, though, that he wouldn’t. 

Bilbo stretched up and kissed him deeply and Bofur let him, memorizing the feel of the hobbit's lips on his own.

“I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do,” Bofur said, though his heart was cracking down the middle, and found a smile for the hobbit who’d tunneled his way into Bofur’s life.

As Bilbo turned at last to go, Bofur caught sight of something glimmering at the hobbit’s hip. “What’s that?”

Bilbo pulled his elven-made sword partway from its sheath. The blade was glowing brilliant blue. From somewhere behind them, Thorin sprang to his feet, shouting for the Company to wake and draw arms.

Bofur staggered sideways as the ground shifted underneath their feet, the cave floor cracking down the middle. He clutched at Bilbo as they fell but the hobbit was ripped from his arms and they plummeted, all together but each alone, into the dark depths of Goblin Town.


	5. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo has come back to the company after their misadventures in the goblin caves. But he has not come back to Bofur, not yet. Just when Bofur begins to believe that all is lost, however, a little hobbit comes to him with a big speech and a little poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed it! Like promised! Angst, then love, then smut!
> 
> Also, the poem Bilbo wrote for Bofur here is actually written by the great poet Dante Alighieri, who is probably rolling in his grave to have "La Vita Nuova" being used in slash!

Bofur was confused.

It was a deep-seated, emotional confusion, a conflict deep within his heart. On the one hand, Bilbo had come back to them! And on the other, he had barely spoken to Bofur since. 

Bofur had been so happy, so overjoyed when Bilbo came back to them on the slopes below the exit to the goblins' caves. He had been certain the hobbit was dead, despite what Thorin had snarled about the hobbit having deserted them, being long gone. Bofur had wondered, then, if Thorin had overheard his conversation with Bilbo in the cave. The pitying glances Thorin had thrown him since had Bofur convinced of it. Thorin knew, if no one else did, that Bilbo had tried to leave, had meant to leave. 

And despite knowing that, Thorin had welcomed Bilbo back with open arms...quite literally. Bofur hadn't known what to think, to feel, when first Bilbo risked his own life to save Thorin's and then Thorin had _hugged_ the hobbit, eyes moist and smile sparkling. But Bofur feared he knew...Bilbo had always valued Thorin's opinion of him. It was Thorin's disdain that had driven the hobbit to leave in the first place, after all. Despite everything Bilbo and Bofur had shared, the specter of Thorin had been there as well. Were the two of them...? Bofur shied away from the thought. It couldn't be true. After all, while Bilbo had not come to Bofur, neither did he spend time with Thorin. 

Instead, he spent all his time with Ori, the two swapping the stories of their respective peoples and writing poetry together. They'd had one very long game of riddles, and Bilbo had chortled quietly to himself with each new riddle Ori taught him. Bilbo had even borrowed a spare leather journal from the young dwarf and was always jotting in it or sketching, every spare moment. Not that Bofur was watching him, or anything. No, of course not. But in the tight quarters at Beorn's hall, it was hard not to see Bilbo...every once in a while.

Looking up, Bofur could see Bilbo and Ori now, across the hall sitting on one of the long sleeping platforms. Bilbo was bent over his notebook, brow furrowed in concentration, curls deliciously disheveled. Damn him for being so adorable, anyway! Bofur shook his head, braids and hat bouncing, and turned his eyes back to the small wooden toy he'd been carving in his spare moments. It was an intricate one, with many tiny details and moving parts, and it required enough of Bofur's concentration that for a while at least, he could forget how his heart ached.

But as he drew his knife along one long plane of the toy, carving in a swooping line, the blade slipped and gashed open his finger. "Damnation!" he cursed, sucking at the small wound. He eyed it; it wasn't deep, but damn if it didn't sting. 

He tucked the blade and the half-finished toy back into his pack and stood, stretching. As he did so, his eyes fell on Bilbo. The hobbit had looked up and was watching him. When their eyes met, Bilbo flushed and looked back down at his journal. Bofur stared at him for a long moment, then strode away, heading for the door. Bifur and Bombur looked up at him as he passed.

"Just getting some fresh air, lads!" he said, as jovially as he was able...which wasn't very. Bifur began to gesture in _iglishmek_ but Bofur pointedly turned his eyes away and continued on. He was not in the mood to speak to anyone right now. 

It was a brilliantly sunny day outside. Bofur blinked in the sunlight, blinding after the dimness inside the shapeshifter's hall. He wandered slowly through the garden-like expanse of the grounds before settling himself against an oak tree not far from Beorn's bee skeps. Bofur's mother had kept bees back in the Ered Luin; the low buzzing susurrus of their wings was familiar and soothing...and besides, the skeps were as far away from the hall as he could get without passing through the thorny hedge surrounding the place. He pulled his pipe from out of his tunic and prepared it carefully, losing himself in the simple familiar ritual, then sat puffing at it silently, trying hard not to think about anything at all.

He succeeded so well that he did not hear the approaching footsteps until Bilbo was right behind him. Bofur spun, the words "Go away, Bifur" leaping to his lips...and froze, seeing Bilbo standing there.

"Oh...," was all he could manage to say.

"Hello, Bofur," Bilbo said, his voice very small. 

"Hello," Bofur answered. "Was there something you needed?"

"...yes," Bilbo said. "I needed...to talk to you. I...I want you to listen to me, and not interrupt. I have to say some things, and you have to hear them. Then you can say whatever you need, and then I will go away...if that's what you want me to do. But I hope that...that you won't. Oh, I'm making a right hash of this already! I had it all planned, all written out. But...but I can't just read out a speech to you, Bofur. You deserve words from, from my heart...not my head. "

He fell silent for a long moment, and Bofur opened his mouth to speak. But Bilbo held up a hand and Bofur closed his mouth again, waiting.

"Here is...here is how it is, Bofur. I have never loved anyone before, and I'm afraid I'm just not very good at it. I haven't had much practice, you see. All I've got practice at is pushing the world away, keeping people out of my home and out of my heart. I put so much value on...on dishes and dinner knives and crochet doilies...because they were all I really had to hold onto. And I'm terrified...scared witless...now that I've let someone in. I...I don't know how to be a lover, and so I tried to push you away, to leave you behind and go back someplace where I understand the rules. But a life in Bag End would be a _small_ life, Bofur, and I fear I've grown too big to fit it now. When I was down in the dark of the caves, all I could think of was your eyes and the way they crinkle when you smile, and those amazing braids and how I never did figure out how you get them to stand out that way, and that _ridiculous_ , fabulous hat, and...and...and how I didn't want to die without seeing you again. I'm not very good at this, Bofur, but I...I want to learn. If you'll have me back, I will never, ever leave you again," Bilbo said, his voice raw and his words running together as he fought to get them all out. Before Bofur could speak, Bilbo pushed his red leather journal into Bofur's hands, opening it to a marked page.

Bofur bent his head to the page and read aloud,

"In that book which is  
My memory...  
On the first page  
That is the chapter when  
I first met you  
Appear the words...  
Here begins a new life."

He looked back at Bilbo, his eyes welling and wet.

"I've been trying for days to write a poem for you, Bofur. But nothing I could find to say was right. This...is the best I could manage, I'm afraid," Bilbo murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.

Bofur placed a hand under Bilbo's chin and tilted his head, forcing the hobbit to look at him. "You hurt me, Bilbo," he said, quietly. 

"I know," Bilbo replied, simply. "I am sorry."

Bofur saw the truth of it in his eyes. He sighed heavily, knowing this might be foolish and not able to bring himself to care, and then in a sudden rush he pulled Bilbo to him and kissed him hard. He felt Bilbo's arms come around him and abandoned himself fully to the taste of the hobbit's lips and the warmth of the small body pressed tight against his own. 

He found himself tearing at the hobbit's shirt and somehow, with much wriggling, Bilbo slipped it off his arms and away from his body without ever breaking the kiss. Bofur moaned against Bilbo's mouth, feeling that smooth skin against his fingertips. 

Bilbo began pulling at Bofur's leather jerkin, not making much progress with the heavy thing. Bofur broke the kiss. "Do you need some help with that, laddie my love?" he asked. He had to laugh; Bilbo looked so frustrated!

"No!" Bilbo said. "I'll get it! I want to do this. You always undress me; I want to undress you this time!" 

Bofur stood still, then, allowing Bilbo to slip the heavy garment down off his shoulders and toss it away. It landed heavily in a heap not far away. The hobbit then faced up to Bofur's heavy jacket. He slipped that off Bofur's shoulders with some difficulty, dropping it on top of the vest. Bofur's long homespun tunic was next. Bilbo pulled that off over Bofur's head, knocking off his hat in the progress. That done, all that was left was the long underwear...and his trousers and boots, of course. And his socks, and the knitted half-gloves.

Bilbo stared at Bofur in some consternation. "How much clothing do you people really need to wear, honestly? You're like a big...hairy... _onion_!" he burst out.

A fluttery warmth started up in Bofur's chest and he burst out laughing, clutching at his gut until he fell over onto the ground, shaking with mirth. After a moment, Bilbo laughed too and joined Bofur on the grass, hauling at the dwarf's heavy boots until he managed to get them off. After that he made short work of Bofur's remaining layers and then his own trousers and soon they both lay naked under the sky.

Bofur sobered then and rolled so he could look down at Bilbo. The hobbit was trembling and Bofur drew one finger down Bilbo's cheek lightly. 

"I thought I'd lost you," Bofur said quietly. "And it nearly broke me. If you leave me again, it will."

"I never will," Bilbo promised, and seized Bofur's head, drawing him into a deep, demanding kiss. 

Bofur was startled. Bilbo had never before taken the lead and Bofur found that...he liked it. He laid himself back on the grass and allowed Bilbo to straddle him. The hobbit was aroused, his erection pressing hot and hard against Bofur's stomach. He felt himself stir, hardening, at the very feel of it against him. 

Bilbo leaned down, kissing Bofur deeply, flicking his small tongue in and out of Bofur's mouth. He shifted his head, nipping at the edge of Bofur's ear. Bofur could feel the hobbit's hot, wet breath and he shivered, gooseflesh standing out all over his body. Bilbo left a trail of hot wet kisses down Bofur's neck and across his chest, following the same path Bofur had taken their very first night together in Rivendell. Bofur recognized this only dimly, overwhelmed as he was by the waves of pleasure rippling through him, but he smiled to know it. Already, Bilbo knew what he liked.

Upon reaching Bofur's groin, however, Bilbo deviated from Bofur's path. Rather than teasing, as Bofur had done, Bilbo licked along the length of Bofur's aching arousal then pressed his firm lips around it and slowly, slowly took it into his mouth. Bofur moaned and arched under him, feeling that slick heat sliding up and down the length of him. Sweat stood out on his body now, despite a freshening breeze and his thighs shook with the force of his desire as the sensations Bilbo was evoking radiated through him. Bofur felt himself approaching climax and grabbed at Bilbo's head but the hobbit broke away, lifting his head from between Bofur's thighs.

"No...not like that, this time," Bilbo murmured. "I want...I want you to take me."

Bofur's eyes widened. In all their time at Rivendell, hours of sex-play and frolic, this was the one thing they had not done. Bilbo had been nervous and Bofur unwilling to in any way force Bilbo before he was ready. "Are...you certain?" Bofur asked. "Don't do this simply because you think I want it!"

"I am certain," Bilbo said, though his voice held a slight quaver. 

Bofur held his eyes for a long moment, then said, "In my belt pouch, then. A small green glass bottle."

Bilbo looked mystified, but fetched the bottle. Bofur uncorked it and poured fragrant oil out over his fingers. "This will ease our way, laddie my love," he explained. 

Bilbo smiled, then, understanding. Bofur pulled the hobbit back on top of him and, clutching at Bilbo's hip with the fingers of his left hand, slid the oiled fingers of the right along the cleft of the hobbit's small buttocks and played gently with his opening, teasing and massaging.

Bilbo stiffened, but Bofur saw only glazed lust in the hobbit's eyes and continued. Gently, slowly, he slipped his smallest finger up inside Bilbo. He arched and a harsh moan escaped him, then he drove himself back down on Bofur, forcing Bofur's finger deeper. Gently, slowly, Bofur moved that one finger, twisting and curving and sliding it, stretching Bilbo wide enough for a second finger, and then a third. He watched Bilbo's face and saw the wince, overcome swiftly by the overriding waves of pleasure. The hobbit bucked against his hand, trying by instinct to find some rhythm.

Bofur pulled his hand away and Bilbo made a sound of desolation and looked down at Bofur, his eyes dark with lust. Bofur held that gaze as he poured more oil onto the hot length of his arousal and positioned it against Bilbo.

"I will not lie," Bofur said. "This will hurt, at first. It helps if you relax. But the pleasure should come quickly."

Bilbo nodded once, jerkily, and slowly, gently, Bofur pushed himself inside the hobbit. Bilbo bit at his lip, his eyes squeezing shut...with pain or pleasure, it was hard to tell. The two were mixed in this moment, perhaps. But when Bofur slowed, holding back, Bilbo opened his eyes again. "Take me, Bofur...take me...now...." he gasped out.

Bofur grasped the hobbit's hips with both hands, the oiled fingers of the right sliding before finding purchase on the hipbone, and drew the hobbit slowly up and down him, moaning at the tightness and the heat of it. He'd wanted this, oh, how he'd wanted this. Bilbo shuddered on top of him as Bofur found that special place deep within, throwing back his head and panting, his face contorted with his enjoyment. He began to help Bofur, moving his own hips in the rhythm they'd found together and Bofur felt every nerve in his body begin to tingle, then burn, as his climax approached. He thrust harder, unable to hold back any longer.

"Oh, _Bofur_ ," Bilbo cried, voice ragged, and Bofur lost control completely. He had come so close to losing this perfect creature and all that pain and loss was bound up in this moment, somehow, mingled with desire and love. With a shout Bofur spasmed, a fog of unthinking pleasure clouding his vision as he climaxed, shaking and writhing under Bilbo.

He recovered himself to see Bilbo desperately working his own arousal with his hand, mewling quietly, eyes squeezed shut. Bofur pushed the hobbit's hand away and took over, stroking at the hobbit with the still-slick fingers of the hand he'd oiled. Feeling the dwarf's larger, stronger hand on him, Bilbo moaned and reached his own climax, sticky heat pouring down onto Bofur's stomach.

The hobbit collapsed forward onto him and Bofur extricated himself carefully, then shifted until they lay next to one another on the grass, Bilbo's head cushioned on Bofur's chest. They panted gently together as their sweat dried in the cooling breeze and their twitching, overstimulated muscles slowly relaxed.

Then Bofur said, quietly, "A big hairy onion?"


	6. Treasure Beyond Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've reached Erebor at last, and Bilbo has been sent into the mountain to do his job. Bofur waits anxiously outside, completing a gift for the hobbit and contemplating the question he means to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one fought me. It was so hard to finish this chapter because I wasn't quite sure what parts of my story I wanted to go where...but I think I did okay, here, and found a way through. This is all love, no angst or smut. 
> 
> Also, in bookverse, it's Bofur who stays with Bombur and the ponies. Obviously, I had to change that. Skipped over Mirkwood completely because I don't yet know how the movie will deal with the scenes there....
> 
> There's only one chapter left, now...

Bofur stood just outside the back door, staring moodily into the darkness. It had an almost physical presence, that darkness, rolling out of the mountain like a fog and curling around the toes of his boots. Somewhere, deep inside that black stone throat, was Bilbo, confronting Mahal only knew what dangers. A dragon, almost certainly, though Bofur quietly hoped Smaug had died of old age years ago. But after everything they’d seen thus far on their quest, Bofur would not have been surprised if giant fish with legs suddenly came bursting out into daylight to attack them.

He was so proud of his Bilbo. Not only had his little warrior managed to kill those horrible giant spiders—Bofur felt his skin crawl just thinking about them—and earn a name for his sword, but his little burglar then contrived to steal them out from under the elf-king’s nose and send them down the river to Dale. Bofur had rather enjoyed his barrel ride, thinking it great fun...though only Fili and Kili agreed with him. Bombur particularly had been right miserable when they’d finally managed to pry him back out of that barrel! 

And then, after all that, it had been Bilbo who’d finally cracked the riddle of the map and found the hidden door. It was a simple portal, once its secret had been discovered. A rectangle five feet high and three across, without decoration or embellishment. He supposed a secret door wouldn’t stay secret for long were it covered in runes and flanked by statuary, at that. But still, Bofur had to hope the rest of Erebor was a bit fancier, or all this would hardly be worth it.

As Bofur stood there brooding, Balin stepped toward him from out of the long dark passageway. He had volunteered to serve as lookout for Bilbo and had gone in just until the light from the doorway began to dim. He caught Bofur’s eye now and called quietly, “You go rest, my boy. Get some sleep, if you can. I’ll give a shout when Bilbo comes back!”

Bofur nodded gratefully and headed back toward the mouth of the grassy little bay—not quite a cave, but more than a crack—which contained the back door to Erebor. He sat some distance from the others, feeling more isolated than usual. Bombur was far too fat to have made it up the precipitous path to this place, and he and Bifur had remained below with the ponies they’d been given in Dale. Without his kin and without Bilbo, Bofur sat alone. He heaved a sigh, knowing he'd not be able to sleep as long as Bilbo was inside the mountain, and pulled out the small wooden toy he’d been working on since Beorn’s hall. It was nearly finished now, having miraculously survived both Mirkwood _and_ the barrel ride.

He unrolled his small leather tool case and set himself to concentrate on finishing the toy by the fire's light. It had begun as a way to distract himself from what he'd believed had been the loss of Bilbo; now, he intended it as a gift for the hobbit. It was traditional among dwarves to give a courting-gift to one's beloved, as a statement of desire to marry. Courting-gifts must be handmade and of the highest quality you were capable of creating; some dwarves gave worked metal or cleverly cut gems. But Bofur was a toymaker in his heart, though a miner he was by day, and so his courting-gift would have to be a toy. 

Bofur wondered, as he carved, what the courting traditions of hobbits were like. Would Bilbo even understand this gift and what it meant? Would he have to explain it? The lovely thing about the courting-gift tradition as far as Bofur was concerned was that no one had to _say_ anything. The gift was presented, and if it was accepted, so was the offer of marriage. Bofur wasn't sure he could find the right words, if it came to that. He remembered with embarrassment how he'd tried to reassure the little hobbit back in Bag End and only succeeded in making him faint dead away. _Furnace with wings_ , indeed. No, Bofur wasn't good with words. Maybe Ori could help him; the little scholar had to have a goodly stock of love poetry tucked away in that mind of his, didn't he?

Thus lost in thought, he hardly noticed when he finished the toy at last. Then, blinking, he held it up in the flickering firelight and saw that it was good. Better than good, maybe. He tested all the little moving parts, searching for stiffness, wood grinding on wood. He found none. It was beautiful, this little thing he'd made. Perhaps the best toy he'd built in his long life. It would have to be enough.

Balin gave a shout then, and Bofur started up, heart hammering in his chest. The old dwarf came dashing from the tunnel as fast as his legs would carry him, holding Bilbo slung over his back. Bofur darted forward as Balin settled the burglar down by the fire. Bilbo groaned quietly and gasped at the fresh air, his little chest heaving. Bofur reached out one hand to Bilbo's cheek but found himself shouldered aside as Thorin leaned forward to seize something Bilbo had clutched to his chest.

Thorin held it up. It was a great chalice, two-handled, made of pure pale gold incised and chased with mithril. It gleamed in the firelight, seeming to throw off sparks. The other dwarves froze in place, staring at the sparkling thing. The treasure...it was real! It was still there! And Bilbo had found it!

Bofur shook off his inertia and turned his eyes toward what he considered the true treasure, the burglar himself, kneeling beside him to bring their faces together. Bilbo met his eyes and smiled gently. "He's down there, Bofur," Bilbo said quietly. "The dragon, Smaug. Furnace with wings, chiefest and greatest calamity, all that. He's sleeping, I think, but he...shifted. He will not sleep for long, I fear."

"We will deal with the dragon when we have to, laddie my love," Bofur said, though his blood was like ice at the thought of Bilbo so close to Smaug. "But what matters to me now is you're safe!" 

They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment, and then both spoke at once, "I have something for you!"

They laughed in unison. "You first," urged Bilbo.

Bofur reached into his jerkin and pulled out the completed toy. He held it out to Bilbo wordlessly. The little hobbit took it and held it up in the firelight. It was an eagle, perfect in every detail. Its wings were spread wide in flight and its great talons were curved for the killing stroke. On its back perched a tiny figure, somehow clearly recognizable as Bilbo himself. Bofur reached out a hand and showed Bilbo the small levers, cleverly disguised as feathers. Press one and the eagle's beak opened in a soundless shriek. Press another and its wings pumped the air. A third clenched and unclenched the mighty talons. 

Bilbo laughed aloud with delight. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. "I _love_ it, Bofur! This is amazing! _You_ are amazing! How on earth did you make a thing like this? It's...it's perfect! It is a treasure beyond reckoning!" he crowed, playing with the small levers and making the little toy soar through the air between them.

"You inspire me, laddie my love," Bofur said modestly, though inwardly he was pleased as could be. 

Bilbo sobered, suddenly. "Now my gift," he said. He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a ring, holding it up to Bofur. 

At first Bofur thought it was _the_ ring, the one Bilbo had found in the Misty Mountains, but he quickly saw it was not. This ring was gold as well, but intricately filigreed with abstract designs like vines. The gold's surface had been brushed to a matte finish and it fairly glowed in the firelight. A single round sapphire winked from the center of the elaborate setting. It was beautiful, a masterwork of dwarvish crafting. Bilbo reached out and took Bofur's left hand, sliding the ring onto his second-to-last finger. It was a perfect fit.

"Bofur, I...." Bilbo began. A sudden loud rumble in the mountain beneath them interrupted whatever Bilbo had intended to say. 

"Dragon!" shouted Thorin in a ringing voice. "Smaug! Smaug is come upon us!"

"Into the tunnel!" Bilbo cried, jumping up. "Inside the Mountain!"

"Bifur! Bombur! They'll be killed!" Bofur screamed over the tumult as the other dwarves leapt to their feet, grabbing at packs and supplies. His kin were still far below with the ponies.

"We will leave no dwarf behind!" Thorin called. "Quickly, get the ropes!"

With a speed and efficiency that might surprise someone unfamiliar with dwarves, the Company hoisted Bombur and Bifur up the sheer cliff face, and even managed some of their extra supplies as well. The entire time they were aware of the dragon's coming; Smaug had issued from the front Gate and was searching the mountainside for the interlopers he knew must be there. What few stunted trees grew on the mountainside whipped with the wind of his passage and the ground trembled. Bofur saw Thorin tremble as well, and remembered that for Thorin, none of this was a new terror.

Barely had the last of the Company passed through the back door when Smaug finally came hurtling from the North, fire preceding his passage. A single tongue of flame licked through the crack they had left and scorched the air as they threw themselves to the tunnel floor.

They lay there gasping in a heap as Smaug passed on. The disguised back door had defeated him; he had not found them. The ponies, though, they feared were not long for this world.

"Well, this is a right pickle!" Kili said at last. "We're trapped in here now!"

"It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations," said Dori rather censoriously. 

The Company began to bicker back and forth as the mountain continued to shake and tremble around them with Smaug's fury. Bofur pulled Bilbo with him a little way farther into the darkness of the tunnel, but not so far that the light failed completely.

"There's....something I want to tell you about my gift," Bofur said, speaking quickly. He did not have time, it seemed, to consult with Ori about the right words; with Smaug awake and infuriated he felt the need to settle things with Bilbo while it was still possible to do so.

"Me first!" Bilbo said, laughing. "In the Shire, Bofur, we have a tradition. It is not a tradition I ever believed would apply to me, but then I met you and everything changed. When there is...one that you love beyond all measure...without whom you would be lost and grey...you give them a ring to signify the eternal, everlasting circle of your love."

Bofur's mouth dropped open. Was the hobbit...?

"Bofur," said Bilbo, his voice suddenly breaking. "Will you...marry me?"

Bofur's laugh rang out strong, sending a bell-like echo bouncing off the tunnel walls. The other dwarves shushed him and he clapped both hands over his mouth, shaking with mirth and joy.

"Oh, Bilbo!" he managed at last. The hobbit looked bewildered, and not a little hurt. "The gift I gave you...I gave it for the same reason! I wanted to ask _you_ to marry _me_!"

Bilbo understood, then, and they laughed together as quietly as they could manage. At last, Bilbo took Bofur's face between his hands and Bofur brought his own hands to the hobbit's cheeks.

"Yes," they murmured together, their voices raw with laughter and love. "Yes, I will marry you."


	7. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and they lived happily ever after, till the end of their days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long one, guys. There was a lot I wanted to get into this chapter!
> 
> Trigger warning for Major Character Death, here. I couldn't see a way around the Durins dying...sorry. :-/
> 
> But this is definitely an AU in other ways...Bilbo marrying Bofur and staying in Erebor...so I did make one other change to bookverse canon. Frodo wasn't born yet at the time of the Hobbit, but here, he has been and has already been orphaned.

Bofur stood at one end of the long cavern. Unlike much of Erebor, this was a natural cave, left in its raw state because of its pure inherent beauty. Crystalline pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose stone. They were fluted and twisted, dreamlike and beautiful, glittering here and there with flecks of gold and winking with raw gems. It was a court to rival the king’s, left untouched here in memory of Mahal their maker and the father of stone. At Bofur’s feet lay a still pool, nearly a perfect circle, that glimmered like worked metal and threw back a perfect reflection of the cavern above. The pool was only a few inches deep, but seemed to contain depths uncharted. 

Beside Bofur stood his brother Bombur and their cousin Bifur, their three images doubled in the gleaming water. They waited together and watched as Bilbo walked through the long cavern toward the pool, in the narrow aisle left between two galleries full of onlookers. Bilbo had no kin here, so Dwalin and Ori had volunteered to stand up with him as being his brothers-in-arms if not in blood. They followed two steps behind him now, the large tattooed warrior and the slight scholar making an odd but somehow appropriate pairing. Bilbo reached the pool at last, standing still on the far side of it, opposite Bofur.

The hobbit was wearing Shire-style finery, cobbled together from childrens’ clothing out of Dale and what little remained from his own wardrobe. His fine linen shirt was spotlessly white under the spring-green brocade waistcoat with its gleaming brass buttons. Bofur himself was dressed more finely than he’d ever been before in a long surcoat of butter-yellow velvet over a white linen shirt of his own. He had left on his old hat, though; he’d not have felt right without it.

Bofur could do nothing but stare at Bilbo now; the hobbit was so beautiful in the dim cavern-light. He saw that Bilbo’s eyes were wet and shining, though his mouth was curved in a radiant smile. 

But still, Bofur could not help but think on the last time he’d seen Bilbo cry. It had been not long after the Battle of Five Armies and Bofur had been in a panic; no one had seen Bilbo in hours. Finally Bifur had come to him and told him he’d seen the hobbit pass through the front Gate at a dead run, covered in blood. Bofur had found him at last, tucked into a corner and sobbing, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. Lifting the hobbit bodily, he’d carried Bilbo back to the suite of chambers they’d taken as their own and undressed him carefully, sponging away the blood that coated the hobbit’s hands and face…all of it Thorin’s, he later learned, from the hobbit’s last farewell to the dwarf king. That done, he laid Bilbo down on the bed, curling his own body behind the hobbit’s and combing his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, murmuring meaningless sounds of comfort and love. Bofur lay with him until at last, exhausted, the hobbit slept. Then, finally, Bofur had allowed himself to cry as well, staying still and silent so as not to wake Bilbo, but feeling the hot tears burn down his cheeks and soak into the pillow beneath them.

In the days of rest and recovery and mourning that had followed, Bilbo had woken screaming or whimpering from nightmares nearly every night, and each time Bofur had pulled him back down into a tight embrace and calmed him till he slept again. Gandalf had assured Bofur that hobbits were far more resilient than any gave them credit for being, assured him that Bilbo would recover from this trauma with time, and help, and love. Bofur hoped that this day would serve as the first stage in Bilbo’s healing.

He was brought back to the moment at hand when Gandalf approached down the long aisle and circled the pool, moving to stand between Bilbo’s side and Bofur’s so that the three made the three points of a triangle and adding his own reflection to the still waters. It should have been Thorin standing there, but that could never be; Thorin’s spirit now walked the Halls of Mandos with Fili and Kili beside him. And Bilbo had refused Dain Ironfoot’s offer to do this, saying that now Gandalf it must be. “ _Gandalf began this; he must finish it as well_ ,” Bilbo had declared, and that was that.

Gandalf began to speak now, his sonorous voice unrolling the harsh fricatives of _Khuzdul_ so that they spread throughout the ceremonial cavern, bouncing back from the walls. It was a blessing he recited now, asking for Mahal to look upon their union with favor and give them both long and happy lives of wealth and love. At last, Gandalf switched back to Westron.

“Step forward,” he instructed, his voice and eyes warm. The two complied, stepping into the shallow waters of the pool until they met in the center, directly in front of Gandalf. The cool water splashed around their feet, sending shimmering ripples through the perfect reflections and shattering the illusion of depth. As the waters slowly began to settle around them, Gandalf took one of Bofur’s hands and one of Bilbo’s and joined them, wrapping a slim chain of mithril around their wrists.

“What this silvered steel binds, let nothing sever!” he declared in ringing tones. Bombur and Bifur echoed him, the latter in _Khuzdul_. Then Dwalin and Ori repeated the phrase as well, their loud voices making it a challenge. None of the watchers stepped forward to meet it. If any had, it would be the place of Bofur and Bilbo’s kin to meet the challenger and fight if need be. There had not been a wedding battle in many long generations of dwarvish kind, but the tradition still remained part of the ceremony.

When it became obvious that no battle would be fought, Gandalf spoke again. “It is traditional in hobbit weddings for one partner to take on the name of the other so that all may hear their names and know they are connected evermore. Bilbo, Bofur…declare yourselves now, for all to hear.”

“I am a Baggins no longer,” Bilbo said, his voice strong despite the tears standing out in his eyes. “As I enter this new life, I take on a new name to match it. I name myself now Bilbo Underpeak, husband to Bofur Underpeak.”

“As I enter this new life, I take on a new name to match it. I name myself now Bofur Underpeak,” Bofur replied, hearing his voice tremble, “husband to Bilbo Underpeak.”

“Bilbo and Bofur Underpeak, may your partnership last as long as the mountains endure,” Gandalf declared. He and their kin stepped away from the pool, leaving the once again perfectly still waters reflecting only Bilbo and Bofur where they stood at the center, seeming to float above measureless depths. Bofur lifted the hand that was not bound to Bilbo and touched the hobbit’s face, then leaned in and kissed him deeply.

The cavern erupted into cheering, dwarves and men and even the few elves whooping and crying out with joy. The echoes bounced and redoubled until the cavern seemed to shake around them. 

Long before they were ready to break the kiss, Bofur and Bilbo found themselves seized from behind, the handfasting chain being whisked away to be crafted into two small bracelets the pair would wear evermore. Bifur and Bombur lifted Bilbo and Dwalin and Ori lifted Bofur and the pair were carried out of the cavern while around them, dwarves made merry jests and shouted ribald comments, teasing them unmercifully about the pleasures of a wedding night. Bofur could see Bilbo’s eyes fill with tears and he knew that the hobbit was thinking of Fili and Kili and how the pair had once teased him like this and were not here to tease them now. But when Bofur cast him a smile, Bilbo smiled back, his face so lovely it seemed to glow from within.

They were deposited unceremoniously on the bed in their chambers and the foursome left them there, closing the door as they exited. A loud scraping in the hallway outside told Bofur they’d dragged some heavy piece of furniture in front of the door; they would not be leaving these chambers until morning. The wedding guests would be partying and carousing till dawn and then long into the next day, but these hours were for Bofur and Bilbo alone.

The room was lovely and warm; there was a fire roaring in the hearth and thick beeswax pillar candles glowed from every table. The chambers they’d chosen were one of the rarer type in Erebor, near enough to the skin of the mountain that there were windows. The curtains on these were open and moonlight poured onto the floors like milk. 

Bilbo sprawled himself out full-length on the bed and looked up at Bofur. “Well, here we are at last!” he laughed. “Even though we’ve been sleeping here together for days now, it’s somehow _different_ now that we’re married. Does that sound silly?”

“Not at all, laddie my love,” Bofur grinned. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s…it’s all official-like now.”

Bilbo popped back up and kissed him hard. “You,” he declared, “are my _husband_!” Then he fell back over, giggling gleefully and kicking his furry feet.

Bofur joined him, laying on his side and propping his head up with one hand. With the other he gently and slowly began to undo the brass buttons on Bilbo’s waistcoat. Bilbo stretched languorously under his hand as Bofur pushed open his waistcoat and began on the shirt-buttons. Finally the hobbit’s chest was bared to the room. Bofur trailed his callused fingers over the hobbit’s smooth skin and Bilbo shivered, goosebumps rising. Bofur played lightly with the hobbit’s very fine fuzz of hair; Bilbo was so different from a dwarf, and yet so lovely. Bofur smiled. He had a lifetime, now, to discover all the differences and similarities between them.

Bilbo squirmed against him, laughing. “That tickles, Bofur!”

“Oh, does it now?” Bofur asked, voice warmly speculative. He rolled on top of the hobbit and began to tickle him, digging his fingers gently into the spaces between Bilbo’s ribs. Bilbo wiggled and fought, laughing until tears rolled from his eyes. He brought up his hands to fight back but Bofur’s heavy velvet surcoat defeated his tickling efforts and he could only roll his body between Bofur’s confining legs, helpless with laughter. 

Bofur felt himself becoming aroused as the hobbit shook and wriggled against him, their groins grinding together. He bucked hard, driving his erection fiercely against Bilbo’s hips. The hobbit’s merry eyes went dark with lust and he bit at his lip with small white teeth; Bofur felt a stab of desire spear through his belly. Seeing his hobbit look at him like that never failed to drive his lust to wilder heights.

He dropped his hands to unlace the front of Bilbo’s fine-spun wool breeches. They fit close to the body, far tighter than the simple trousers Bilbo usually wore, and it took him some effort to skin them down over the hobbit’s hips. Bilbo shifted and writhed sinuously under him, both aiding Bofur’s efforts and having the side effect of rubbing himself harder against Bofur’s aching arousal. From the wicked glint in his eye, Bilbo knew exactly what effect he was having on Bofur, too. 

Finally the hobbit lay naked under him, pale body only a few shades darker than the sheet, soft hair glowing amber in the candlelight. Bofur straightened, gazing down at his hobbit with a sort of wonder. Immediately Bilbo’s hands were busy, unlooping the horn toggles of Bofur’s surcoat and sliding up inside his linen shirt. Bofur moaned when he felt the hobbit’s hot fingers on his stomach and chest, tugging at the thick hair there. Swiftly, he shed his clothing, dropping his heavy boots on the stone floor and tossing his finery on top with little regard. 

He straddled Bilbo again and took both the hobbit’s wrists in his hands, pinning them above Bilbo’s head, then leaned forward and kissed him hard, dragging his teeth along Bilbo’s lower lip. Bilbo groaned and bucked his hips, pressing his own hot length hard against Bofur’s belly. Bofur began to move on top of him, sliding his arousal against Bilbo’s, the hot smooth skin sweat-slicked and slippery. Bilbo matched his rhythm, moving his own hips in a slow sinuous grind. Waves of excitement poured through Bofur’s body and he panted and moaned, circling his hips as he bent to kiss and bite at the hobbit’s neck and ears. His hair fell around them in a thick dark curtain; at some point Bilbo had unbraided it without his noticing. They were in a small dim world of their own, everything else fallen away, all of their thoughts bent on each other and the sensations coursing through their blood.

Suddenly Bilbo spasmed under him, moaning incoherently as he climaxed. Bofur felt a wet heat spread out across his stomach and chest.

“Mmm, I’m not done with you that quick, laddie my love,” he purred. “We have this whole night and I promise you, I will make you scream for me more than once before the door’s unblocked.”

Bilbo didn’t answer, still panting and shaking with the force of his climax. He looked wrecked, his skin flushed and his hair wet with sweat. Bofur thought he had never looked so desirable. 

Quickly, before Bilbo had a chance to relax, Bofur swept up the small green glass bottle of oil they kept beside the bed. It had seen a lot of use over the last few days, but Bombur had thoughtfully refilled it for him before the ceremony. What are brothers for? Bofur grinned, pouring the oil out over the aching head of his arousal and slicking it up and down the shaft until he was thickly coated. He slipped his hands under Bilbo’s hips and hoisted the hobbit up onto his own thighs, pressing the very end of himself slowly but firmly against the tight ring of muscle.

Bilbo let out a cry and fisted his hands in the bedcovers, but pushed himself down against Bofur, wincing as he forced his muscles to relax and allow Bofur entrance. Bofur moved slowly, allowing Bilbo the time he needed, and then pulled slowly back out. He kept up this way, moving his hips as slowly as he could make himself, allowing the tension and the pressure to build nearly unbearably. Bilbo threw back his head against the mattress, the cords in his neck standing out and his eyes tightly closed; Bofur saw that the hobbit, who had softened after his climax, was hard again, his arousal flush against his flat stomach. Bofur changed the angle of his hips, seeking that special spot deep within Bilbo. He knew when he found it; the hobbit’s body, already tense, went as taut as a bowstring, his back arching hard and a shrill keen escaping his clenched teeth. At that, Bofur lost the last shred of his control, driving himself hard and fast into Bilbo and hitting that spot over and over. Bilbo let out a scream as his entire body shook hard with the force of his second climax and his body tightened around Bofur, sending him over the edge into his own climax. He trembled and shook, sweat pouring down his limbs as waves of exquisite, almost painful pleasure rippled through him. 

After the convulsions slowed, he carefully extricated himself from the hobbit, and collapsed forward, pillowing his head on Bilbo’s chest. They lay together, listening to the fire in the hearth and breathing slowly.

 

Later, minutes or hours, they moved to sit at the crackling fireside. One of the wedding gifts left in their room by their friends had been a large warg-skin rug; they sat on this now and let the fire’s heat lick at their naked flesh. Bilbo sighed, a heavy and contented sound, and let his head drop onto Bofur’s shoulder.

“I came on this trip hoping for an adventure,” he said softly. “I found that, yes, and I found that often adventures are terrible and sad. But I also found _you_ , Bofur, and that was worth all the danger and the pain, twenty times over.”

Bofur grinned. “I came for the free beer and found myself a husband! Good trade, I’d say!”

Bilbo laughed and punched him in the arm lightly. “I will have to go back to the Shire, though, Bofur, one last time. I must put my affairs in order and retrieve a few treasured things…maybe some clothing not borrowed from human children, for one thing.” His voice was wry.

Bofur nodded. “Aye, laddie my love, I thought so. We can go this spring once the passes clear.”

“And…there’s another thing,” Bilbo said, his voice tentative. “I have this very young nephew, Frodo. Well, he’s a cousin twice over and once removed either way, really, but nephew is shorter. He’s also an orphan. I…had thought to bring him to live with me in Bag End as my nephew but now…well, a cousin twice over and once removed either way could be a son as easily as a nephew…."

Bofur caught his breath in surprise. A son. He loved children dearly; it was why he’d become a toymaker. But children among dwarves were few and never in his wildest imaginings had he believed fatherhood would come to him. “A son…” he said quietly, hearing the longing throb in his own voice. “We could have…a son.”

Bilbo looked up at him and smiled. “A _family_ ,” he corrected gently.


End file.
